Those Stars that Bleed
by KeepCalmFanFicExists
Summary: Bellatrix suffers from a hereditary condition. In this series we see how she handles her illness and how it affects the people she loves. Every chapter will focus on a POV. -please, if you think it may be disturbing, triggering or just upsetting, just leave it.
1. Fire

_This series as a whole is dedicated to Azzie (Inkfire), because she gave me the virus that made me work on it. We discussed the possibility of the Black Family having a hereditary disease affecting some of its members and Bella in particular. The series show her life, mainly as a child, and how it affected her and her family from various POV's. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, just the OC here, and I'm not a doctor or med student. I wrote with what I know from my experience and what we've read in the books. _

_For the sick kids. _

"Ouch," muttered Clara, as the sister punctured her arm yet again to get more blood. "How many more tests?"

"I'm sorry, dear," the sister said compassionately, "there're more tests than you think. But don't you worry, we'll know what's wrong with you in a jiffy!" The woman patted her cheek motherly and smiled.

"I have to go give this to the Head Healer for tests, you just try and relax. Isn't your mother here?"

"My mum's still at work. They've called her," said Clara, trying to hide away her sadness. No luck, though.

"Now, now, don't you worry. You're feeling better now, aren't you? Stay here and talk to the other kids, and your mum will come real soon." With a last warm smile, the sister left the hospital room.

Clara sighed heavily. She considered herself brave and fond of new things, she was a Gryffindor after all, but she had to admit, these last few hours had left her a bit drained. In her short life of 12 years, many odd things had happened. Her mum, who was single-handedly raising her, had many bizarre and eye-watering stories to tell anyone who would listen, but neither of them could have expected that all these were not just simple mischief, but signs of something else, more beautiful and fairy-tale-like than the best novel.

The day professor McGonagall had helped herself in their tiny apartment had changed their lives: real magic and wizards and owls and _a school_. Clara thought she would go mad from this whole new world than unraveled itself in front of her eyes in a matter of days. The trip to Diagon Alley had been truly, well, magical and she didn't even care that most of her new "magical" stuff had to be purchased second-hand. The wonders of the wizarding world became more apparent when she started school last year and found out that paintings talked and ghosts were real and she herself could turn a matchstick into a needle, if she just said the magic words! Even though everything had been new and challenging, she had enjoyed every minute of her incredible gift of being a part of this world. Up until that morning anyway.

Just three days before her second year at Hogwarts started, she had woken up feeling drowsy and tired. Her mum hadn't been very worried, a stomach bug had been running free the last week in the packed building they lived in, so she had left her with some painkillers and a tip to let the elderly widow next door, Mrs. Thomson, know, if she felt worse. And worse she had felt. Shortness of breath was followed by extensive bruising of her feet and arms, and she had to call the neighbor as she felt too weak to walk. The fancy ride by ambulance to the local ER had lasted less than expected when it had taken her to a nearby empty shop where the driver had shoved her in the mirror and from there to... a crowded waiting room of a magical hospital.

An army of nurses in pink robes -sisters they were called- and doctors in blue -healers?- had taken their turn in examining her body with various nasty-looking instruments and in asking her loads of questions. After the preliminary exam, she had been escorted to a room full of other sick children two floors up where large silver letters formed the title: HEMATOLOGY DEPARTMENT.

Clara tried to remind herself that in this wondrous world brooms were not just for sweaping the floor and that a witch could turn a table into an exotic parrot with a simple twirl of her wand, as she gazed at the other inhabitants of the semi-private rooms of the ward she had been assigned to. Most of the children were in worse state than her. She had suffered many needle pricks and a ghastly tasting potion to seal the lung that had collapsed, but some of the other kids were obviously sick: thin bodies hooked up on pumps that flushed potions and fluids in and out of them, blistered fingers grabbing stuffed unicorns as the healer muttered complex spells over them, pointing at their veins and other body parts, and sad, tired eyes that had little of the carefree happiness she and her friends had when exploring the school.

Clara looked at the children of various ages in search of a familiar face, hoping, selfishly perhaps, that someone she knew could help her feel a bit better, reassure her that she was there by mistake. Because the magical world she had discovered was nothing like that. Only no one looked remotely like any of her classmates, no one except...

Clara's stare focused on the bed closest to her. A girl of around ten was sitting there, her fragile body bent double as she coughed up blood in a bucket that seemed full of the same sticky red substance. She lifted her head up, blood dripping down her chin, and the extreme paleness of her face with that ebony hair lit up a spark in Clara's memory. She was sure she had seen that face again, it was hard to miss in a crowd, even without the bloody effect. But the pretty girl noticed Clara too and, between coughs, she raised a thin eyebrow.

"What are you looking at?" she whispered hoarsely.

Clara blushed instantly.

"Sorry," she muttered, "I just think I've seen you before and-"

"I surely have never seen _you_ before," the girl retorted, a thin bloody finger pointing at Clara's clothes. She was still wearing her t-shirt, shorts and flip flops with Cinderella on them, screaming "Muggleborn" out loud. The other, though, was clad in a dress Clara would have placed in a Hollywood Medieval-themed film... That reminded her of something.

"You're Bellatrix Black, aren't you? I've seen you in the paper with your sisters. You were at that gala in June!" she said, as she remembered the huge photo of three girls and a petite woman, all dressed in luxurious silk gowns, offering a generous donation to Hogwarts' fund in the Prophet's charity column.

Bellatrix nodded "yes" as she started coughing up more blood into the bucket and Clara took a closer look at the reason she was able to attend Magical Hogwarts. When she had seen Bellatrix in the photo, she was a healthy nine-year-old girl, maybe a tad bit too skinny, with shimmering hair and a delicate golden chain resting on her thin chest. Now Bellatrix was obviously underweight, her hair was sticking on her sweaty forehead, her heavy lids had a magenta shade and a tube covered in blood was protruding from her chest.

"What a couple of months can do to us, huh?" Bellatrix said in a wet whisper, as if she had read her mind.

Clara, afraid of agreeing as it would be rude, asked:

"What's that thing coming out of your chest?"

"This?" Bellatrix asked absent-mindedly, "that's my port, it gives direct access to my blood stream. Everyone who needs long term care gets one. Potions go in, blood goes out. It's actually really cool, saves you a lot of trouble, when the sisters have damaged every good vein you have."

Another coughing fit caught her and, for a while, Clara just looked horrified as Bellatrix added more sticky blood mixed with something yellow and icky in the bucket.

"Shouldn't you do something about that?" she said weakly.

"There's nothing anyone can do right now, blood and mucus have filled my lungs, better out that in," Bellatrix said in a casual voice and, when she realised Clara was looking at her confused, she added:

"I have a hematologic condition due to which blood does not flow properly throughout my body. That causes blood and mucus to fill my organs and my blood products to be unbalanced. This time it's my lungs, as it usually is. There is no cure, but I'll receive a bone marrow transplant soon. Hopefully this, along with several medications I take, will keep me well enough to be able to attend school in two years."

Clara swallowed carefully, as the information sank in.

"How can there be no cure?"

Bellatrix looked at her as if she couldn't understand what she was saying. Clara hurried on: "I mean, it's the wizarding world, you can do everything, right?" Her eyes had opened in shock.

Bellatrix, for the first time since she had noticed Clara, seemed to take some interest in her. A smirk appeared on her face, so that, along with the blood covering her, it composed a rather creepy scene. Clara swallowed again, more urgently this time.

"What idiot told you that?" she laughed. "I don't know where you come from, but here's a tip. Magic works perfectly against Muggle things, but that doesn't mean some types of magic can't beat other types of magic. In my case, hemolytic magic trashes the brilliant healers." She continued laughing so hard, that an even more severe cough caused her to struggle to breathe. Every time she inhaled, a funny wheezing sound followed.

"Relax," Bellatrix continued like nothing more dramatic than dropping a file had happened. "I'm in serious trouble only if my oxygen drops below 90. Anyway, what's your excuse for being here? It's obviously your first visit."

Clara shook her head, as she remembered that there was a conversation going on, not a freaky monologue. She wasn't sure she wanted to ignore what she had just heard about magical theory, but Bellatrix didn't strike her as a person who did what others wanted her to. So she went with the flow.

"I had some trouble breathing this morning and my legs got bruised. I've also have been feeling tired a lot lately. My neighbor called the Muggle ambulance and they brought me here. I'm Clara, by the way, Clara Burrows."

"I don't shake," Bellatrix said haughtily, and then added with the same shark-smile as before, "because my hands are messy."

Clara smiled awkwardly, because, even though Bellatrix' hands were indeed covered with icky stuff, she oddly felt that she was being somewhat... sarcastic. She had to rethink her previous estimation: not everything she saw this evening was in contrast to the glamorous aristocrat she had seen in the picture. She was proud and dominating just as much as she had found her there. And something else too, only she couldn't put her finger on it quite yet.

"So, you either didn't eat your breakfast and are extremely clumsy, or you're really sick," Bellatrix deadpanned. "Did you eat your breakfast, Clara Burrows?"

"No, I mean- I don't remember- wait, how sick? Am I going to die?"

"Sure thing. Everybody dies."

Clara's eyes had taken the size of a Galleon.

"Yeah," continued Bellatrix unfazed, "and Santa Claus isn't real either, your mother puts the presents under the tree for you."

Clara still didn't move.

"Oh, come on, don't act like you just found out," Bellatrix said angrily, splattering blood on the bed. She coughed again and Clara herself started feeling the same heavy weight on her chest as before.

"Nurse! Nurse!" she screamed, as the walls closed in.

"She means, sister, could you help, please," Bellatrix said in her usual wet whisper to the two sisters that rushed to help Clara. Bellatrix watched impassively the medical personnel shove potions down Clara's throat and mutter spells frantically trying to stabilize her breathing. When they achieved their aim, one of the sisters gave her an oxygen mask and then turned to Bellatrix herself.

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth," she answered simply. "Is Healer Sanguis coming soon? Because I have been waiting for some time and things are getting rather sticky," she showed the woman her blood-covered palms.

"He's on his way, he wants you to drink all of this." The nurse handed Bellatrix a blood-red potion, smiled encouragingly at Clara and left saying: "Call me if you need me, dear."

Clara remained curled up on the daybed, clutching the oxygen mask to her face and with silent tears running down her cheeks.

"What's wrong with me?" she whispered and looked deeply into the impassive, cold blue eyes of Bellatrix. A sob escaped her lips and she bit them to cover it.

"You probably have some type of cancer of the blood," Bellatrix informed her. "But you shouldn't take my word for it, I'm no healer."

"Cancer?" Clara's heart missed a beat. "B-but that's a Muggle illness, you said that Muggle stuff-"

"Seriously?" Bellatrix asked with mild interest, "Muggles get cancer too? Well, it'd be different surely. What do you think all these kids are here for?" She shook her head to the direction of the other ill patients. Their families were all pale and sick with worry.

"My mum won't be able to take care of me," Clara said miserably, "she's a Muggle, she's got trouble following my school letters, how will she ever be able to know how to look after me? I was the one looking after her now, that's how it's supposed to be, not the other way round! And how are we going to pay for all that? I can't really be sick, I can't!"

The more desperate Clara became, the wider Bellatrix' eyes grew. By the time the sisters were back to look after the second year, Bellatrix' pale cheeks had a crimson colour and she was breathing heavily, letting out a 'wheeez' every time and her eyes were staring greedily at the wailing girl. Her reaction was so extreme, the good nurses were worried for her too and hurried to take her vitals and give her her own oxygen mask.

"Gwendolyn, go get Healer Sanguis right away, please, he is needed asap" the Head Sister told a golden haired sister who left quickly in search of more advanced help, pink robes flying around her.

Clara calmed down after two sedatives and muttered softly to no one in particular: "we're not going to make it, are we...?"

"Now, now, dear, these are not nice things to say. Wait and see first, maybe it's just nothing and, even if it isn't, we're all here to help. You couldn't be in better hands."

Clara nodded like in a stupor, looking straight ahead and didn't react to the sister who was smiling at her. The Head Sister sighed quietly. There was nothing else she could for her now, so she focused her attention on Bellatrix. She had known the young aristocrat since she had been a baby and had also tended to other members of her family, and she had to say, this was the weirdest of them all. Bellatrix was still looking at the older girl as if she were a fascinating show and her chest was raising and falling heavily. She tried to distract her; perhaps that would make Clara feel better.

"Miss Black," and, when Bellatrix' ignored her, she repeated, "miss Black, there's a man here to see you." The Head Sister showed with her head the glass part of the door, where the figure of a tall thin man was evident.

At the word 'man', Bellatrix turned her neck so fast, it made a sickening crack. In an unrecognizable, polite voice, she asked: "Can he come in, sister?"

"I suppose..."

The door opened and the man entered the room. Dressed totally in black, with white skin stretched on the highest cheekbones and fiery eyes, his presence was enough to attract everyone's attention. Even Clara noticed the newcomer and an expression of awe illuminated her face. He looked so... different than anyone she had ever seen, more powerful, more domineering without even trying to. She breathed with difficulty as he walked past her elegantly for someone his height, and sat next to Bellatrix.

Clara tried to hear their conversation over the various noises of the hospital room and something peculiar and hairy stirred in her chest, as the man smiled at Bellatrix, asked her how she was feeling and removed softly a wet strand of hair from her forehead. The creature poked her with its ugly face to make a move and get her noticed as well; Bellatrix didn't deserve his undivided attention, she hadn't even cared when she almost suffocated to death. Now, Bellatrix was smiling her bloody smile broadly and shiny, and reassured the man casually that she was "just fine, nothing worse than usual!" with bright eyes.

Clara was focusing so hard on the man, that she didn't realise at first that the Head Sister was talking to her.

"Dear? Dear, your mother just arrived, she's being taken to Healer Sanguis' office. Come, sit on the chair, we'll roll you there," she said encouragingly.

Clara sat on the armchair with the wheels and let another sister push her through the room. As she passed Bellatrix' bed, the man's eyes fell on her and, for a second, they locked gazes. The explosions in his eyes set fire to the walnut of hers, and it was like he could see her fears, her loves, her ambitions, her very soul.

In less than a second later, he refocused on his little friend, leaving Clara electrocuted and unwilling to go upstairs to her mother and her possible cure.

_A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. _


	2. Snow

_This chapter takes place minutes before and during the incidents of the previous chapter. _

_For the siblings._

Narcissa really adored her stuffed unicorn. It was white and soft and its horn was made of golden satin. She enjoyed putting it in play with her dolls and by itself, she even loved looking at it. It had been her favourite toy in her short, four-year-old life and that's what she had picked to play with that late afternoon.

Her eldest sister, Bella, had joined her in play and, even though she had admitted loudly it was 'slightly boring', she had agreed to stay. Little Narcissa was delighted and had even made her the honour of giving Snow to Bella to hold as she gave his stables a final touch. Then Bella coughed wetly and, when she handed Snow back, its white coat had crimson polka dots on it. From her sister's blood.

Narcissa turned her head up to see Bella hiding her face in her hands and her palms oozing sticky blood that was coming out of her mouth. Narcissa screamed before she knew it.

"Bella! Bellaaa!"

"Cissy, d-don't-" Bella tried to speak, but her own blood was choking her. "It's fine, it's-"

She tried to get up, only she was too weak and collapsed back on the pink carpet, her arms and feet in odd angles.

"Sukiii," Narcissa wailed.

In a second, the door swung open as if by itself and an unusually tall and stout house-elf ran in the room, followed by three more, much smaller ones. They were all dressed in the same flax tea towel with the Black Family crest embroidered on it and held wet cloths and a metal basin. The elves started work as they had done for the last nine years, putting the basin in Bella's hands and cleaning her face. They were not allowed to touch their young mistresses though, unless they had direct orders and at that point one was in utter shock and the other was bleeding heavily.

"Sister Gwendolyn is coming, miss," Suki tried to help the child that was grasping for breath on the pink floor. True to that, a witch dressed in pink robes with St. Mandarin's crest on them entered the room soon after, holding a small set of potions and needles. She raised her wand the moment she spotted Bellatrix and muttered a spell, practically shoving Narcissa out of the way. This seemed to help the young patient only a bit. But apparently Bellatrix didn't care that much about the blood coming out of her mouth.

"Take her away," she barely whispered, as the pink-robed witch helped her on the bed. "She- she mustn't-"

"We need to get you breathing first, miss," sister Gwendolyn said absent-mindedly. She was living with the Blacks for years to aid with the eldest daughter's care and wasn't particularly happy with the arrangements, but her main goal was to keep miss Black alive, not be a babysitter for all the prats. Mrs. Black was going to skin her if anything happened during her watch, so when Bellatrix continued struggling, she made the decision.

"This girl has to be taken to St. Mandarin's right away, she needs more than anti-inflammatories and Blood-Replenishing Potion, her lungs are filled with blood and mucus. We need to transport her now, or she's going to die."

At the word 'die', Narcissa took a sick white colour and fell on her knees.

"I said," Bellatrix' voice came more powerful now, between choking and spitting, "take her out of here."

Before anyone could argue with that, the bedroom door opened yet again and the middle child poked her head in. When she realised what was happening, she ran towards her sister, but she stopped her.

"You-you can't help, just look after her. And tell- and tell- mother before-" The rest of her speech was cut short for the sister had strapped an oxygen mask on her small face. She was now arranging small amounts of Floo-Powder all around the delicate body that was squirming and moving spastically from the coughing fits that were getting more and more violent.

Andromeda put her arms around Narcissa and pushed her little face in her chest so that she wouldn't have to see her eldest sister struggle in a pool of blood and finally find some rest as she passed out. The girl was shaking and she could hear her own heart pounding, seconding her sister's. Gwendolyn had to tell them twice to stand back for them to register and move. A beam of light followed that set the Floo-Powder on fire and they were gone out of sight.

Narcissa let out a sob and started crying in Andromeda's arms, a four-year old looking for reassurance in an eight-year-old. Andromeda stroked her hair for a while and then seemed to come out of her shock.

"Come, Cissy," she muttered hoarsely, "don't cry, please, it's all right."

"She's NOT all right," the child screamed, before sobbing again.

"Of course she's all right," she said in a fake careless voice, "you know Bella, nothing's ever stopped her, she's so strong and brave, the healers will take good care of her and she'll be home soon."

"She will?"

"Yeah, you'll see," Andromeda smiled. Narcissa stopped sobbing for the first time. Her colourless eyes looked deeply in her sister's brown ones and, staring at their reflection, Andromeda realised she was crying too. She wiped her face with her sleeve as casually as possible, and then messed Cissy's hair.

"Let's get you cleaned up and I'll make your hair like Bella does, yeah?" Narcissa nodded with a half-smile and the smallest of the elves offered them a cloth right away.

"Thank you, Chaun," said Andromeda and raised her hand. But she almost choked when she saw her sister's face clearly for the first time since all the mess had started. Bellatrix must have coughed up some blood on Narcissa that had been mixed up with her tears, because Narcissa seemed to be crying bloody rivers. Trying to keep up a brave expression, she patted Narcissa's face gently, removing all the wetness and leaving it in its pallor.

At the same time, the elves attacked the blood stains on the floor and bed, so Andromeda grabbed the little hand and led Narcissa to her own room.

The girls remained quiet as Andromeda struggled with strands of hair, brushes and colourful ribbons. Once in a while, she would pull a hair, but instead of her usual squeaks, Narcissa didn't seem to mind. She was still too shocked, it was the first time she witnessed their sister seriously ill. She knew, of course, Bella had some health issues, she had even visited her in the hospital in a surgical mask at Bella's request, but it was always after Bella had had her treatment and was on her way home. And when Bella was unwell and taken care in the family castle by Sister Gwendolyn and the elves, Narcissa had been advised to be gentle with her plays, for sissy was tired and couldn't move much. Paleness, sickness and extreme fatigue were the worst she had seen.

Andromeda, though, who had been around much longer, had seen almost as much as Bella herself. She couldn't remember feeling shocked by anything, she considered all the mess pretty normal; coughing up blood and mucus, multiple vomiting and potions lined up against her sister's bedroom wall instead of stuffed unicorns, and a St. Mandarin's sister living with then for years, since Bella had been found blue and unresponsive on her bed when she was around Narcissa's age, were all part of her life now. They were the only family in magical Britain with an unrelated witch living in their house, she was sure of that.

Bellatrix' health crises would come and go and varied from mild to severe with no specific pattern. She could be fine for weeks and then start... well, what she had just done. Then she would be rushed to the Children's Hospital, where she would remain for some time, enduring procedures and enjoying the undivided attention of everyone, even their mother. It was a horrible thing to think of, but sometimes she was sure she'd go crazy if she had to spend her life watching her sister like that: either being their mother, or being pampered to a revolting degree. She was quite sure that even Mr. Riddle would interrupt his travels and busy schedule to visit her when sick and that was telling. Mr. Riddle never gave _her_ a second look, anyway.

On top of everything, Narcissa would be joining the club soon, for she had proven herself a match for her sister's whatever-transplant that would help keep her as protected as possible while at school. At that point, they'd probably have a second health care woman babysitting both-

"I want Snow," Narcissa said, pouting her lip.

Andromeda swallowed.

"You can't have him, Snow is taking a bath now, he'll be clean tomorrow."

Narcissa's eyes filled with tears again and the little progress Andromeda had made with the French braid dissolved in her hands. Angrily, she threw the silver-backed brush on the floor, causing the little girl to cry even harder.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Andromeda screamed too, "I don't know how to make one like Bella and I can't give you Snow now!"

She sat on the floor and started crying with her head on her knees. The possibility of Bellatrix dying for real and forever had never crossed her mind until now. Bella was just too strong, too different to die from a silly disease. But she was also a girl like her and Cissy, she _could_ die if her lungs had blood instead of oxygen in them; she could be dying that very moment, alone in the hospital, with a mask strapped on her face. Who would make Cissy's French braid then, who knew how and cared enough to clean up Snow with simple magic?

To whom would _she_ talk to?

"Andromeda?" a strict voice took the crying girls by surprise. Their mother, a petite woman with colourless eyes and pale blonde hair, was standing in the room, looking at them both with a disapproving expression on her face. She was wearing a beautiful morning dress with patterns of silk birds flying on the shiny fabric and a matching hat; obviously she had been interrupted while visiting a friend and had just arrived.

"Can you tell me what the source of all this gaucherie is? Sister Gwendolyn sent me an owl that Bellatrix is unwell again? Has she been taken to the hospital?"

"Yes, mother," muttered Andromeda, as she stood up on her feet and unwrinkled her dress. Trying to prevent herself from sobbing was hard. "They left half an hour ago."

"Well, then, stop standing there, have lunch and go back to your studying," she said in a disapproving tone. "You can visit when Healer Sanguis allows it."

The two girls looked at each other and then at their mother's colourful back as she left them again, alone and scared near the room their sister had been struggling for breath just some time ago.

_A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think._


	3. Silk

_This chapter takes place before and during the previous ones._

_For the parents._

"...and you won't believe this, Ella, he said- oh my, he said, 'I don't know, madam, what do you think?' and he offered her his little arm for her to see!" Walburga said in a high voice.

Druella Black laughed delicately, as she was supposed to, and took a bite from her mini croissant sandwich.

The two Black sisters-in-law were sitting in Walburga's patio, enjoying the last days of British summer with tea and delicacies, while taking pride in the latest accomplishments of their offspring.

"Oh, that's just adorable, Wally, he will be a fine gentleman one day," Druella said, nodding her well-combed head multiple times to emphasize her words. "But tell me, what textile did you finally choose? Velvet is always beautiful for winter, but silk gives those amazing patterns when embroidered, and it's just so resilient, even kids cannot tear it apart. Not that my girls would ever do anything to cause trouble to their pretty dresses, they love clothes as much as their mother does, but I'm sure for boys it's quite different..." she let her voice trail off. Druella was tired of listening all about how wonderful it is having young sons and couldn't resist the urge to point that out.

"Well, I have a very clear opinion on silk, Ella," Walburga said, sipping tea calmly, "for us, women it is absolutely vital, we both know that," she made a small gesture with her fan around both of their evening dresses, "but one has to be careful with men. They just cannot-"

"Madam." An elf was standing behind them, its head bowed and it was holding up a silver platter with a letter resting on it.

"Thank you, Minnie," Walburga took the letter, after she put down her tea. "For you, apparently," she offered the letter to her sister-in-law.

Druella's heart skipped a beat. It was irrational of her, really; since her husband, patriarch of the Blacks, had been murdered, she was the one controlling the enormous family fortune and the name, and that meant a lot of mail during the day from various people and places. And yet, there was always that fear...

She stretched her hand to receive the message and almost gasped. She recognized the handwriting, it was Sister Gwendolyn's letters and that could only mean one thing: she was right to be afraid, her eldest daughter was sick.

"Are you all right, dear?" Walburga asked sugary. "Is it about young Bellatrix?"

"Yes," Druella said, not bothering to open the letter; she knew exactly what it would say. Blood and coughs and oxygen, her eldest child fighting for her life yet again. " I have to go, Wally, excuse me."

"Of course, dear, of course, you have to take care of your family," Walburga agreed, being used by now to her niece's various health issues that popped up in the most unsuitable moments. "I will sent an owl tomorrow morning to see how you are all doing, yes? And maybe some of those blackberry cupcakes Bellatrix likes, how about this?"

"That sounds great," said Druella automatically, looking around her disorganized for her handbag and hat.

"Now, let me do that," Walburga removed Druella's fingers from her chin, as the latter struggled to tie her hat on. "And here is your cloak. Send by best wishes to your girl!"

Druella nodded and turned on the spot the minute her sister-in-law's fingers left her.

When the pressure subsided, she opened her eyes and inhaled deeply the precious perfumes of nature. She had Apparated in the Black Castle's vast gardens. When her husband was still alive, he would take her for a stroll there every evening in the summer, and they would chat like when they were still at school, sneaking around late at night. He had proposed to her there privately and, since then, the green silkness of the leaves brought some calmness to her grieving mind. Before she could deal with any challenge, she had to spend some time there, it was the best remedy for her excruciating headaches.

In contrary to most weddings of their standing, she had really loved Cygnus and he had loved her back. Well, like any other girl at the time, she had had the Riddling-Crash, as they would call it between giggles, in other words, a very soft spot for marvelous Tom Riddle, the amazing-brilliant-handsome-charming-perfect Prefect, Head Boy and, as some called him, the Lord. But, in her opinion, his best friend, the boy with the dark eyes who was the only one in the world who could make her smile and, even, laugh, was a better match in the end. When she had first felt the new life twisting and turning inside her, the joy had been tremendous. The baby had been kicking from early on, and so everyone had assumed it would be a strong, healthy boy.

How wrong could they have been. After an extremely long and painful labour, a baby girl with lustrous black curls and the deepest, most knowing blue eyes had been the latest addition to the Black Family. Cygnus had been delighted, not bothered in the least by the child's gender. He said she had character and brains and had named her Bellatrix. The proud dad spent many hours with the baby and didn't miss a chance to show her to anyone who stayed at their house for more than ten minutes. Druella, on the other hand, could not even look at her; oddly, she was convinced the little one didn't like her at all. She had mentioned that to Cygnus, only to receive a loud laugh in response. And yet, she had been sure then and now she had proof.

But the bad news didn't stop there. A series of bad infections and wet coughs had resulted in a grim diagnosis at three weeks of age of a hereditary condition their family was known for. It affected mainly males and it was always fatal in the end. Cygnus had cried when he had realised his little angel with the midnight blue eyes would die before him. She had only been angry; angry and disappointed.

If caring for a regular child had been extraordinary difficult for her, a sick baby had been downright impossible. She had ordered the house-elves to reproduce and had hired a sister to look after her, for her breakdowns, caused by her daughters' cries of agony as poison invaded her body, needed lots of relaxing potions. The Healer taking care of the family had muttered words like postpartum depression, but had decided he valued his life more than scientific accuracy.

She had to admit, Bellatrix had given them many scares and she always managed to pull through, endured every procedure graciously and seemed to have a surprising tolerance in pain. Soon she had grown into an unnaturally mature and intelligent child who resembled, most of the times, an adult. For her father, she was his pride and joy, while he had been quite indifferent to his other two daughters.

Druella herself, after giving birth to a sick girl, had abandoned every hope for a happy, perfect family. And when Cygnus had been murdered for being blunt and outspoken in the Ministry, she had found out they had been wrong again: their terminally ill daughter had already outlived one of her parents.

Cygnus' death had been the worst blow Druella had received in her entire life; and there had been times she thought life had no meaning any more. All she wanted was to stay in the gardens of their beautiful home and forget that his physical presence would never really be there again. But her eldest daughter's health had no idea she was grieving and demanded attention and energy and education. Druella had decided to manage that in honour of her late husband who always had cared for Bellatrix, so she too, tried to be patient. But she had demanded help and support from the whole family.

It had been this time that the assistance of Sister Gwendolyn had proven itself precious. In the short months after giving birth, Druella had concluded that a living-in sister was a terrible idea as it minimised privacy and offered a false sense of security. But then her four-year-old daughter had been found blue and unresponsive on her bed in a pool of blood, apparently dead. Druella's blood had frozen in its veins as Riddle, who happened to be their guest that night, had shoved the Black couple out of the way and had muttered unintelligible words over Bellatrix' body. And then, by some miracle, the child had turned pinker and had barely opened her eyes. Tom had stated flatly that a sister from St. Mandarin's Children Hospital was needed and, even though neither Cygnus nor Druella had been trilled, they had immediately complied.

With Cygnus gone, Sister Gwendolyn was the one keeping a constant eye on the independent and dauntless child that had unquenchable thirst for knowledge and curiosity that she felt she had to satisfy no matter the cost. Druella had often tried to explain to Bellatrix how delicate her health was and that physical activities like duelling and extensive use of magic could have devastating consequences, but the child was ignoring her without blushing. She only seemed to take into account what Riddle told her, and he wasn't helping much, encouraging her to study and train hard and test her limits constantly. No matter how severely she punished her, Bellatrix was just listening to him.

Druella sighed tiredly. At times like these, guilt crept in her mind and tortured her viciously. After the initial shock of Cygnus' death had passed, she had wondered how she would feel if his little girl followed him soon after. Remembering her the day of the funeral, holding Riddle's hand and dressed in the typical mourning clothes for women instead of girls, the ones Bellatrix had insisted on wearing, and not a single tear falling down, Druella hadn't managed to make herself feel sorry for her. Cygnus would have been distraught though, and, surely, he would never forgive her for not protecting her as she was supposed to.

Druella gave the gardens a last look and her fingertips traced a pattern on her silk dress, one of Cygnus' favourites. After all those years, it hadn't changed: shiny and well-formed, not a single scratch on it, it portrayed the wild-life of a jungle. She had to hang on like the dress somehow, and rush to her daughter's side right away.

_A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think._

_Important: This is not the typical view of the mother of a seriously ill child, and I'm by no means implying anything about parents. Bella simply is too messed up in the books to have a lovely family, so Druella had to go. ;) Oh and, Ella, dear, sorry for the name, it's the only nickname to Druella I could come up with._


	4. Lace

_This chapter takes place during the Order of the Phoenix, before the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. _

_Parseltongue is shown in Italics and emphasis in **bold** letters._

_For the partners. _

"That would be all for tonight," Lord Voldemort said in his characteristic, clear voice that carried around the table of his followers. He remained seated, completely still, while the rest tried to depart with as much decorum and silence as they could, for they knew how much their master despised loud noises.

When the last Death Eater closed the heavy doors behind him leaving him alone, he shot up to his feet, and left the room from a secret passageway behind the large silver mirror that covered the wall. The house was not his, of course, but he had demanded to know its every secret, as it had become now his Headquarters.

His soft footsteps were practically silent as he took turn after turn in the labyrinth of a house that manor was. He was heading towards the North Tower, the highest of the four.

"_She's just a girl,"_ a barely audible hiss came from somewhere close to his feet.

"_Excuse me?"_ he hissed back, without stopping to greet his pet.

_"That servant of yours, with the long shiny... hair," _Nagini found the human word. "_She is nothing but another girl_."

"_True,"_ Voldemort agreed and bended slightly to the side, so that Nagini could slither up his shoulder. The giant snake though, preferred to continue on its own.

"_I was observing this night's meeting, master, I saw how she barely coughed and you sent her to do 'what you had talked about',"_ the snake brought its tale close to its face and clicked the end, mimicking the human gesture for quotation marks. "_If I may, master, you had no reason to assume she was in such a bad state, she had to leave the room_."

"_Perhaps I had indeed talked to her about something she had to attend to right away,"_ Voldemort said curtly, evident threat in his tone.

"_Then why are you pale and running_?" If snakes could smirk, this one definitely just had.

_"I am always pale, you are being unreasonable."_

_"Then why are you running? Or rather, why did you take the secret passageway for the first time and why did you wait until everyone else is gone?"_

_"Because it is not their place to know where I wish to go after I need them. One could be a spy. The less contact they have, the safer for me."_

_"Master, you cannot hide from me, a part of me _is_ you. I can see what is in your mind."_

_"You can see only what I let you see,"_ Voldemort corrected Nagini.

"_And now you let me see you are worried about the girl. Because she had a cough. Isn't it interesting that you let me see that?"_

_"We all make mistakes,"_ Voldemort hissed.

_"Master, please," _Nagini started from another angle this time, in an effort to stop aggravating him and still pass the point. _"In that house during the summer, when you had no real body you said you... desired her." _

"_I regret that,"_ Voldemort said angrily, _"but I do not expect you to understand. How could a female snake ever understand that male humans have certain needs? I am not particularly proud about this, but some things are just beyond our control."_

"_Said the man who mastered death,"_ retorted Nagini smartly.

Its master's eyes shone scarlet in the dark narrow halls they passed rapidly.

_"Yet, master, you had explained to me the difference between my feelings of loyalty to you, and lust. You said it had to do with her being beautiful, that this was what made her stand out. Something about her lips as red as blood, her skin as white as snow, her hair as black as ebony-"_

_"Are you sure I told you that, not some other Parselmouth Dark Lord you came across?"_ Voldemort asked dully.

"_Absolutely_ _positive, my lord, I could have never come up with that. I have seen nothing of those you so poetically described. I know human anatomy is not my area of expertise, but those are pretty obvious..."_

_"She was in prison and suffers from an incurable condition, her appearance is expected to suffer from that," he said triumphantly. "When she gets better, she will be a perfect match to my masterpiece of a poem."_

The snake stopped moving forward, raised its body so that its face was nearly at the same height as her master's and hissed loudly, its tongue smelling the air.

_"Exactly, only she will be dead before she gets all pretty again. And even if she does get better, she will soon die anyway, while you and I will live forever."_

The little colour Voldemort's face usually had, left him, like he had been exsanguinated.

_"She is not worth it, master, you do not deserve to miss your sleep when she will be here for just a tiny part of your infinite life. It aches me seeing you tormented like that when she gives you nothing-"_

_"Bella gives me plenty in return,"_ Voldemort interrupted. "_She_ _is more useful every day than you are."_

_"You mean_ _those zaps late at night? The blackouts? They are more precious than me keeping your soul safe?"_ the snake asked incredulously.

_"What zaps? What blackouts? What are you talking about?"_ Voldemort asked, his voice oddly worried.

_"Sometimes is happens late at night, while I am hunting. It is very distracting. And it always happens when you visit her. Never lasts for more that 15'', but it can happen more than once..."_

"_Stop_!" Voldemort hissed, his eyes ready to incinerate anything they fell upon. _"How dare you- Leave. Now."_

_"Master! It is my duty to tell you about her. I am here to protect and keep you company, after all."_

_"Funny, that is how Bella views her own role too,"_ Voldemort replied with a cruel smirk. "_I said, leave_."

The snake looked at him with its yellow eyes and then turned abruptly around. Still, very angry and confused, he almost fell on a tall lean figure with lots of blonde hair.

"I apologize, my Lord," Narcissa Malfoy said hoarsely. She bowed her head, but not before he could see the tears glistening on her cheeks.

His heart missed a beat and he started climbing the stairs faster than ever. He reached the top of the tower breathless, not sure exactly what to expect. Surely, if Bellatrix was in such a terrible condition, her sister wouldn't have left her alone and she would have told him if she was-

He opened the door without knocking, less than silently. But instead of the bleeding mess he was expecting, Bellatrix was simply lying on the couch near the fire, her corset loose, a book hovering in front of her, with a small handkerchief in her hand. It was barely bloody.

A smile lit up on Bellatrix' face, when she noticed him standing at the door.

"Master!" she said wetly.

He approached her carefully, looking for signs of distress.

"How are you feeling? I passed your sister at the stairs, she was crying."

"Cissy?" asked Bellatrix surprised. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that, my lord, just a Great Aunt of our died this morning and you know Narcissa, she cries over butterflies with broken wings."

"Had she become ill?" he asked with a frown.

"Severe case of natural causes," Bellatrix deadpanned. "She was 157, it was time for her to go. Actually, it was her time to go several decades ago." Then she pouted. "And I don't think I have another formal black dress..."

"Let us not get ahead of ourselves," Voldemort told her stiffly, "first we need to see whether you will be well enough to attend the funeral. Or any other occasion for that matter."

"Master, I'm fine. It's just a little cough, I've always had it."

"Give me your handkerchief. I want to see how much blood there is."

"No, my lord, it's only a few spots, you shouldn't-"

"Do not tell me what I should and should not do, Bella," he cut her off.

Bellatrix shrugged back and passed the cloth, avoiding his fiery gaze. Slowly, he took it and hissed in anger; she had cleverly folded it in a way that, from a distance, it was impossible to see the large blood-stains. Voldemort looked at her incredulously.

"It is the third episode in two weeks. Can you breath? Heavy chest? Pain?"

"No-master-I feel well-"

"I think you have become resistant to the therapy, your body is fighting against its cure."

Bellatrix laughed hoarsely.

"For someone with your amount of arrogance, it's very odd your first conclusion is that the therapy of your invention is ineffective-"

Before she could finish her phrase, her whole thorax was taken over by violent spasms and blood came out of her mouth, soaking everything in close range: Bellatrix' clothes, the blankets of the couch, Voldemort's shirt.

"Master, I-I'm so sorry- I-" she apologized, as he leaned back, probably to get away from the blood.

_'She will soon die anyway, while you and I will live forever.'_

"Relax, my clothes have had much worse things on them than a little bit of your blood," he muttered and went to the medicine cabinet that was strategically positioned nearby. He took a handful of potions, but, when he looked up, Bellatrix' face was covered completely in blood that was coming out of every orifice, even from her eyes. She looked more surprised than scared, and yet he ran next to her, forcing potion after potion down her throat with difficulty, as he had to paralyze her so she wouldn't spit them out.

In a while, the treatment seemed to be somewhat effective, and they both collapsed exhausted on the couch. Voldemort reached in his pocket and took out a large bar of milk chocolate.

"Eat."

"Do you just walk around with _milk_ chocolate in your pockets? A Dark Lord with no dark chocolate..." Bellatrix said grinning.

"Get yourself cleaned up and rest," he instructed, not finding her funny," I have some tests to run."

* * *

><p>Lord Voldemort looked at the sleeping woman with pity and some sadness. It was odd, she had survived the horrors of Azkaban and she would die on a plush bed with silk sheets, because he had no clue what more there was to be done. He had run every test trice. Science never lied, no matter how often he rechecked his calculations, the results would remain the same.<p>

_'She will soon die anyway, while you and I will live forever.'_

"_Master, you knew this would happen,"_ Nagini hissed in his ear, as she curled herself around his armchair.

"_Leave_."

_"She is not_ _worth it, master, breaking your heart."_

_"I said, leave"_

The snake slithered under the door fast, afraid of its master's fury and desperation that seemed to be taking over the room.

He had no heart, Nagini was wrong, but something indeed ached him inside, when he looked at the woman who was so pale and thin, she could already be dead. He remembered vividly that morning, so many years ago, when the house-elf had come out of her room screaming and yelling that little Miss Black was dead. He had shoved her own parents away to find himself looking at an almost... idyllic scene. The pink bedcovers took a deeper and deeper scarlet, as they reached the small body of the child that was covered in blood, while she herself was pale blue. She seemed to have passed out in a crimson flower, or perhaps, as if she were submerged in a bottle with red ink that was flowing out of her. Her eyes had been open, not seeing the beautiful paintings of the ceiling and so was her bloody mouth.

Voldemort felt again that same horror, as he thought about the pain that was the last thing the child had felt while struggling for breath, and the absolute nothingness that was bound to come. Non-existence, the only thing humans were not made to wrap their mind around. Chills went down his spine. He didn't believe in heaven, he believed only in hell, being dead and gone and not even aware of it.

_'She will soon die anyway, while you and I will live forever.'_

As if she had read his thoughts, Bellatrix stirred and her eyes opened. The same broad grin appeared on her face, like every time he visited her. But she sensed his mood too, he was still wearing the bloody shirt, for one.

"Not so good results, then?" she whispered.

Voldemort sat on the couch, towering over her as she lay there.

"No, not so good."

"How much?"

"Three weeks. Maybe a month." He raised his hand to caress her cheek. "I am so sorry, Bella."

Bellatrix nodded calmly.

"Please, don't tell my sister, she won't be able to handle it..."

Voldemort cast her a meaningful look. "Your sister has no right doing this to you, and you should not allow her to. You need to focus on your own health, not how Narcissa will react.

Apparently," Voldemort continued, "Azkaban played a major role in weakening your systems. It took away the two decades you could have had." And when Bellatrix nodded again, he went on. "There is nothing I can do. And even if I have an idea, there is no time to test it, the side-effects could kill you faster than the disease. I am sorry."

Bellatrix was now smiling.

_'She will soon die anyway, while you and I will live forever.'_

"Do not apologize master, you never had any obligation towards me. If it wasn't for you, I would have died when I was four. I am... sorry for looking disappointed, it has nothing to do with you. I had just been hoping I would die in battle in your name, not drowning in my own fluids. And it would have been immensely satisfying, if I got to admire you in your throne as king of the world. But, I suppose, we rarely get what we want."

Her lord remained silent, avoiding her eyes.

_'She will soon die anyway, while you and I will live forever.'_

"Master, please, don't be sad for me," she whispered. "I never wanted to cause you any pain."

Silence still.

"If it makes you feel any better, master, you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I am glad to die, if I have offered you my best. It was the highest honour and pleasure to know you and be your second-in-command and- and everything else."

He didn't react.

_'She will soon die anyway, while you and I will live forever.'_

"I- I would prefer to have it painlessly, is there a chance you could-"

_'She will soon die anyway, while you and I will live forever.'_

_'She will soon die anyway, while you and I will live forever.'_

"Master?" Bellatrix looked at him, slightly gapping.

"There is something else to be done," Lord Voldemort said, who obviously hadn't been paying attention to her words. "A spell. It will save your life."

"But I thought- you said... Spells are not a powerful as potions in Healing-"

"It will not heal you, it will prevent your body from dying. You will always have to receive your treatment, but you will live. It is called a Horcrux. You pick an object and store a piece of your soul in it. As long as the magical container remains intact, you are perfectly safe."

Bellatrix' eyes opened wide.

"A piece of your soul? Master, you cannot possibly- An object... Dear Slytherin, like that cup? Did you give me a piece of your **soul **to keep safe?"she shrieked.

"Try not to get upset. But yes, that is correct. The Cup contains a piece of my twenty year old soul.

You will require an object to contain the piece, preferably something small and precious. How about the ring I gave you for your birthday? And then we have to hide and protect it well. I am not sure how it will affect you given your chronic condition, but it will surely save you. We will have to wait for a couple of days though, the process is excruciatingly painful, you have to be stronger to tolerate -"

Bellatrix, on the other hand, seemed more concerned about the honour and responsibility, than how a Horcrux of her own would affect her.

"...I had figured it was important and that it belonged to Hufflepuff, but that it's practically you, I never- Excuse me, what did you just say?" she stopped dead.

"That you have to be stronger, or you will bleed to death during the process, it has happened before."

Bellatrix' jaw dropped in a very non-lady-like manner.

"Are you serious? Are you saying you want to make me a H-Horcrux? Master, I- I don't mind dying... I don't want immortal life."

"I mind if you die," he said flatly. "It is not up for discussion. You will do it as soon as you are strong enough."

And when Bellatrix continued looking Stupified, he added forcefully.

"I really cannot understand what your problem with immortality could be, but I can put it in another way: would you like to spend a long, extremely long time with me? I know you do, Bella!"

Bellatrix closed her mouth and a crimson shade coloured her cheeks.

"You thought you could keep secrets from me, my dear? How long have you known me?"

This time she turned her head up and looked straight into his fiery eyes.

"Apparently, not enough, my lord."

A triumphant smirk spread across Voldemort's face.

"That's a good girl. Now, as I was saying, it should be a rather small object-"

"I would like to be able to wear your gift, my lord," Bellatrix said softly. "Is Nagini a Horcrux, as well?"

He looked at her annoyed.

"Yes, she is. Stop deflecting, you always deflect. Perhaps an old family heirloom-"

"Are you missing more than half of your soul?" Bellatrix interrupted again. Terror was evident in her voice now.

"Yes..."

"Your soul..." she whispered miserably, "it must be so unstable... that's how you survived the attack at the Potters..."

"Yes, Bella, can we go back to you, now?"

"Yes," said Bellatrix forcefully. "If you cannot have your old soul back, then you can accept new parts, right? Then it will be stable again."

She looked at him with a slightly deranged smile.

"You will be my Horcrux."

_A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think._


End file.
